


Patterns

by Ficlet-Machine (Wordsmith)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Regret, Tattoos, Tattoos in honour of a loved one, missing person, words unspoken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsmith/pseuds/Ficlet-Machine
Summary: There is no longer anything Kuchiki Byakuya would not do to honour the man he loves - no matter the cost or consequence.After all, he's already lost the only thing he cared about. How could anything else matter now?





	Patterns

The sensation of the needles rapidly breaking his skin and moving on, paired with the tapping sound made by the tattooist’s tools was, Byakuya decided, quite pleasant. Or, at least, not even remotely as unpleasant as he had imagined it. As he lay flat on his belly, his back losing inch after inch of unblemished pale gold to bold jet black and blood red, the sixth division captain found himself in an almost meditative state. His thoughts didn’t wander as much as they traced patterns at the same pace as the ink settled beneath his skin. It was such an intimate feeling, he was surprised by the fact that he wasn’t even blushing. Surely, that would have been the appropriate response to the realization of just how well he knew those patterns his inner vision kept tracing and retracing. He’d never realized until now how deep inside his soul everything about those patterns had nestled - and their bearer wasn’t even here with him. Byakuya sighed. The thought made a dull ache settle in his chest and eyes sting with tears he adamantly refused to shed. The pricking sensation paused.   
  
“Do you need a moment, Kuchiki-sama?” the tattooist asked. “Big motifs like these tend to wear a bit on you. There’s no shame in a few tears.”   
  
Byakuya shook his head.   
  
“It is not the pain that bothers me. To be honest, I am surprised at how little it hurts. It’s the motif… I-” He went quiet, unable to find a logical thread to start with.   
  
The tattooist eyed him, and nodded.   
  
“Patterns like these aren’t usually something I get to do on the skins of nobles,” he said. “Are they a memorial for someone?”   
  
“My vice-captain,” Byakuya said, and then bit his tongue before correcting himself. “My beloved.”   
  
“I’m assuming the black patterns are copies of his?” the tattooist asked as he resumed his work.   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“You must have loved him very much.”   
  
“I do.”   
  
“May I ask how he passed?”   
  
“He didn’t. He's… missing. He’s been missing for four years.”   
  
The tattooist put a hand on his shoulder in a quiet gesture of support.   
  
“Sometimes that’s the hardest. Death, at least, we know. Not knowing, that is the poison of the mind.”   
  
They went quiet again. Byakuya lost his battle against the tears he’d held in for so long. It was oddly soothing, almost cleansing, and when the tattooist finally put the needle away and helped him to his feet, Byakuya felt lighter.   
Looking at himself in the mirror, skin now covered in slithering, bold black lines and blossoming scarlet cherry blossoms, he no longer saw the frail looking nobleman who failed to keep his loved one safe. He saw not the cowardly snob who could not even bring himself to tell the very center of his universe that he loved him.   
Both those men had died with the first drop of jet black pierced into him.  Not even the proud and stern captain of the sixth squad remained. Here was only a man with his heart’s desire tattooed on him - an open challenge to anyone who dared object. Here was a man who would unhesitatingly throw everything away if it would give him back what he’d lost.   
The black lines dancing across his skin gave him a feeling of strength and determination he’d not previously owned. The tattooist helped him back into his clothes after having covered him in protective wrappings and healing ointments.   
  
“So, what’s his name?” he asked. “The man who had these?”   
  
“Renji,” Byakuya said, tasting the syllables as if they were sweetest honey. “Abarai Renji.”   
  
“You gonna go find him?”   
  
Byakuya glanced at him, grey eyes laden with steely resolve.   
  
“I will kill the gods themselves if they think even for a moment that they can stop me.”

**Author's Note:**

> A short little Bya/Ren drabble I re-discovered while rummaging around in my archives. It made me terribly nostalgic, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.


End file.
